A Serpent to Sting You
by Mad Maudlin
Summary: Two girls, two wars, the same basic question.


A Serpent to Sting You

by Mad Maudlin

_You seek knowledge and wisdom as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been._

—_Mary Shelley_

The girl sat upright before her teacher's desk, shoulders thrown back and chin held high, a picture of confident pride. The professor remained silent. No moonlight penetrated the office windows, and in this high tower the summer crickets were muted to silence. As the clock ticked on, the girl's posture began to waver.

"You do not know what you are asking," the professor said at last, hands folded calmly on the desk.

"I do," the girl insisted, and drew herself up again, as straight as a young birch. "I want to do this."

"What you propose is frightfully difficult—"

"And I am the best student of our year," the girl said, then had the grace to blush. "I apologize, Professor."

"Do not apologize for being correct." The professor rose and went to stand beside the windows. "I do not question your intellect, which, as you say, is impressive. But this is not a war for children."

"I'm of age," the girl said, with a hint of heat. "And I have as much to lose as any witch or wizard. Perhaps more."

"I will allow you that," the professor said.

"There's no point to being this clever—to studying all this magic—if I don't make use of it."

"Another excellent point," the professor said.

"We need all the help we can get," the girl said.

The professor sighed heavily, head bowed. "Indeed we do."

After another moment silence, the girl burst out, "So why won't you help me, Professor?"

The professor sat again and observed the girl calmly. "Forgive me for answering a question with a question, but I must ask: why have you sought my help?"

The girl's head fell, and she picked at her robes for a moment. "There are books I need," she said. "Things I can't find in the library, not even the Restricted Section."

"I will refrain from asking how you obtained access to the Restricted Section in order to search for them," the professor said, "for I am quite certain none of the staff would react with any greater enthusiasm to this request than I have."

The girl flinched, but carried on. "I came here because I thought—you've helped me with so many other things—I thought if anyone would, you would help me with this."

"This is a far more serious matter than the acquisition of a Time-Turner."

"But I have to do this—"

"Have to?" The professor raised both eyebrows and leaned back slightly. "You have to go to war? Perhaps to your death? You have to forgo your final year of school, your N.E.W.T.s—"

"Sod the N.E.W.T.s!" the girl burst out. "This is about defeating Grindelwald!"

The professor was silent and still for a moment. "Language, Minerva," he said after a moment.

The girl dropped her head again, blushing. "I apologize, Professor Dumbledore."

The professor leaned back in his chair again and steepled his fingers. "As for what this is about—I do not question that the war against Lord Grindelwald is of the utmost importance. I myself shall be departing in a few days for Paris with an eye towards his eventual defeat. But not even I am so confident as to think I can vanquish him without the slightest help from my peers."

"I don't intend to vanquish him," the girl mumbled. "I just want to help."

"And you believe a witch of seventeen who has not even been certified with a single N.E.W.T. can be of help?"

"I can, if I become an Animagus," she said.

The professor nodded. "And are you aware of the dangers of such a project?"

"Of course," she said, showing another flash of impatience. "We covered them in third year—I could end up trapped in animal form—"

"Or trapped between forms," the professor said. "I want you to think carefully on that. To be stranded as an animal, without any human faculties—your memory, your identity, your rare and precious intellect—or worse, left with an anatomy so grossly distorted you may never be able to live a normal life. If you are even able to survive. Is that a risk you are willing to take, Minerva?"

"Our side needs intelligence," she said, but without her previous confidence. "As a bird or a fox—or even an insect—I can be a perfect spy."

"Need I remind you that it takes months to become an Animagus, sometimes years?" the professor asked. "And the process is taxing. I myself know only the theory."

The girl shook her head. "I know it's difficult," she said. "And I know it's dangerous. But I want to do this. I need to do this. I can't just sit around while so many other are going off to fight."

"What does Mr. Macmillan think of this?"

The question caught the girl off guard, and she blinked, then blushed furiously. "It's none of his business," she mumbled, then added pointedly, "nor yours."

"Probably not," the professor said cheerfully. "But there are a few things I should like you to think about before you go any further on this path. The people you care about being high among them."

"I'm doing this for the people I care about," she said.

"Are you?" the professor asked softly. "Are you risking your future—not to mention your life and limb—and setting off on this difficult path solely because you think it will protect those you love?"

The girl was silent for long minutes. "No," she said. "Of course that's not the only reason."

"Of course not," the professor said. "And while love is a very honorable reason to fight—the most honorable, some might say—it is those other reasons that I urge you to examine. There are ways besides war that you can protect your family and your friends, and even your Mr. Macmillan, if you choose."

"And if I still choose to fight?" the girl asked softly.

The professor was silent again for a moment, then said, "Minerva, I do not doubt that you can successfully become an Animagus, and do so quickly, if any of my students can."

"Then why won't you help me—?"

The professor silenced the outburst with an upraised hand. "I do not doubt your capability," he said. "But I worry about the consequences."

She blinked at him. "You've already reminded me of the risks, Professor," she said, in a tone of voice universal to teenagers everywhere.

"I have, and I am not speaking of them again," the professor said. "This knowledge is a means to an end for you, Minerva, and I fear what that end will mean. You are young, and while your store of knowledge is vast, you still lack wisdom. I do not doubt that you will gain some on the fields of battle, but I fear what it will cost you."

"I don't understand," the girl said.

The professor nodded, as if this was expected. "Have you thought at all about what will happen if you succeed in becoming an Animagus, and leave us for the war abroad?"

The girl pondered this. She fingered the bright prefect's badge on her robes. "I...I won't be Head Girl," she said.

"No," the professor said. "And while I doubt that Mr. Riddle will miss you terribly, quite a few of your other schoolmates will."

"I'll have to sit the N.E.W.T.s when I return," she added. "I'll have to petition the Board of Governors."

"And that process is fraught with uncertainty," the professor said. "Even with your history of outstanding marks, it is unusual for the Board to grant such a permission. Even if they do, you will have to study on your own, and if you fail you will almost certainly receive no second chance."

"Even so," the girl said, "even if I fail the N.E.W.T.s—I'll have practical experience, field experience. I may still be able to find a job when I come back."

"If you come back," the professor said.

The girl closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and it was a long time before she said, "I know that. I know. But...but I want to do it. I have to do it. For my family's sake, and my friends' sake, and my...my..."

"Your Mr. Macmillan's sake?" the professor said gently.

The girl blushed again, but said, "Besides, if I were the sort to let danger put me off, I suppose I would've been Sorted into Ravenclaw."

The professor frowned slightly. "There is a fine line between courage and recklessness, Minerva."

The girl smiled weakly, for just a moment. "I'll let you know when I find it."

The professor watched her, her upright posture and her trembling hands, then said: "The books you need are not in the library, no, but they are available from certain bookshops with the proper Ministry permissions..."

-\-\-\-

Fifty years went by.

Another girl sat upright before her teacher's desk, shoulders thrown back and chin held high, a picture of confident pride. The professor remained silent. No moonlight penetrated the office windows, and in this high tower the summer crickets were muted to silence. As the clock ticked on, the girl's posture began to waver.

"You do not know what you are asking," the professor said at last, hands folded calmly on the desk.

"I do," the girl insisted, and drew herself up again, as straight as a young birch. "I want to do this."

"What you propose is frightfully difficult—"

"And I am the best student of our year," the girl said, then had the grace to blush. "I apologize, Professor."

"Do not apologize for being correct." The professor rose and went to stand beside the windows. "I do not question your intellect, which, as you say, is impressive. But this is not a war for children."

"I'm of age," the girl said, with a hint of heat. "And I have as much to lose as any witch or wizard. Perhaps more."

"I will allow you that," the professor said.

"There's no point to being this clever—to studying all this magic—if I don't make use of it."

"Another excellent point," the professor said.

"We need all the help we can get," the girl said.

The professor sighed heavily, head bowed. "Indeed we do."

After another moment silence, the girl burst out, "So why won't you help me, Professor?"

The professor sat again and observed the girl calmly. "Forgive me for answering a question with a question, but I must ask: why have you sought my help?"

The girl's head fell, and she picked at her robes for a moment. "There are books I need," she said. "Things I can't find in the library, not even the Restricted Section."

"I will refrain from asking how you obtained access to the Restricted Section in order to search for them," the professor said, "for I am quite certain none of the staff would react with any greater enthusiasm to this request than I have."

The girl flinched, but carried on. "I came here because I thought—you've helped me with so many other things—I thought if anyone would, you would help me with this."

"This is a far more serious matter than the acquisition of a Time-Turner."

"But I have to do this—"

"Have to?" The professor raised both eyebrows and leaned back slightly. "You have to go to war? Perhaps to your death? You have to forgo your final year of school, your N.E.W.T.s—"

"Sod the N.E.W.T.s!" the girls burst out. "This is about defeating Voldemort!"

The professor was silent and still for a moment. "Language, Hermione," she said after a moment.

The girl dropped her head again, blushing. "I apologize, Headmistress."

The professor leaned back in her chair again and steepled her fingers. "As for what this is about—I do not question that the war against the Dark Lord is of the utmost importance. The Order is gathering in a few days' time to decide upon a new course of action. But even I begin to doubt that we can vanquish him unassisted."

"I don't intend to vanquish him," the girl mumbled. "I just want to help Harry."

"And you believe three youths who have not even been certified with a single N.E.W.T. can accomplish what a score of the finest witches and wizards in Europe cannot?"

"We can, if I learn about Horcruxes," she said.

The professor nodded. "And are you aware of the dangers of such a project?"

"I know it's illegal Dark magic," she said, showing another flash of impatience. "There's a fine for even possessing the books—"

"Or Azkaban, in these uncertain times," the professor said. "I want you to think carefully on that. Whatever you and Potter propose to do, you are risking your freedoms and your futures on it."

"Dumbledore asked him to do it," she said, but without her previous confidence. "We have to do this, professor."

"Need I remind you that this is Dark magic beyond the skill of most living wizards?" the professor asked. "Even the theory is far beyond the grasping of many experts in Defense."

The girl shook her head. "I know it's difficult," she said. "And I know it's dangerous. But I want to do this. I need to do this. I can't just sit around while Harry goes off on his own."

"What does Mr. Weasley think of this?"

The question caught the girl off guard, and she blinked, then blushed furiously. "He's coming with us," she mumbled, then added pointedly, "not that it's any of your business."

"Probably not," the professor said wearily. "But there are a few things I should like you to think about before you go any further on this path. The people you care about being high among them."

"I'm doing this for the people I care about," she said.

"Are you?" the professor asked softly. "Are you risking your future—not to mention your life and limb—and setting off on this difficult path solely because you think it will protect those you love?"

The girl was silent for long minutes. "No," she said. "Of course that's not the only reason."

"Of course not," the professor said. "And while love is a very honorable reason to fight—the most honorable, some might say—it is those other reasons that I urge you to examine. There are ways besides war that you can protect your family and your friends, and even your Mr. Weasley, if you choose."

"And if I still choose to follow Harry?" the girl asked softly.

The professor was silent again for a moment, then said, "Hermione, I do not doubt that you can decipher the secrets of the Horcrux, and do so quickly, if any of my students can."

"Then why won't you help me—?"

The professor silenced the outburst with an upraised hand. "I do not doubt your capability," he said. "But I worry about the consequences."

She blinked at him. "You've already reminded me of the risks, Professor," she said, in a tone of voice universal to teenagers everywhere.

"I have, and I am not speaking of them again," the professor said. "This knowledge is a means to an end for you, Hermione, and I fear what that end will mean. You are young, and while your store of knowledge is vast, you still lack wisdom. I do not doubt that you will gain some in your travels with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, but I fear what it will cost you."

"I don't understand," the girl said.

The professor nodded, as if this was expected, and opened her mouth to speak—but hesitated. She rose and came around to the opposite side of the desk, and sat in front of the girl, though her eyes were focused on a portrait across the room. "Hermione. Let me tell you a story."

The girl looked uneasy, but nodded, and leaned forward to listen.

"Once there was a young witch, the cleverest witch in her year, and she knew it very well. There was a war going on far away, and this young witch was filled with the hubris of youth—the sort that you will learn to recognize when you are my age. She secretly thought she could change the course of the war. She thought she could be a heroine." The professor paused. "Also, there was a boy. There usually is, in stories such as these."

"When was this?" the girl asked, but the professor ignored her.

"This young witch decided to leave school a year early to fight, but she was no so naïve that she thought she could walk into the Ministry of Magic and earn a place in the battle with no qualifications. So she went to her favorite teacher, and asked him to arm her with a spell that would make her indispensable to those fighting.

"He tried to warn her, this professor, of what the consequences could be if she went down this path. She told him she understood. Perhaps she did, in an abstract way. He helped her with the knowledge she sought, and she went to her war."

The girl asked into the long silence, "What happened?"

"She came back," the professor said distantly, "a little wise, a little colder, and with a few more scars than when she left. She sat her exams a year later than she would've, and she went on to have a happy life, as much as anyone ever does."

"What happened to the boy?" the girl asked.

The professor smiled faintly. "He married someone else. Boys often do."

"And did you regret it?"

The professor wasn't surprised; she finally turned her eyes from the sleeping portrait to the girl before her, the cleverest witch of her year. "I don't know," she said. "I cannot imagine my life unfolding any other way, though I know well how it could have. If I could fully comprehend all that I gave up when I chose to leave, I fear I might regret it very much."

The girl closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and it was a long time before she said, "I understand what you're telling me. I do. But...but I want to go with Harry. I have to go. For my family's sake, and my friends' sake, and my...my..."

"Your Mr. Weasley's sake?" the professor said dryly.

The girl blushed again, but said, "Besides, if I were the sort to let danger put me off, I suppose I would've been Sorted into Ravenclaw."

The professor frowned slightly across a canyon of five decades. "There is a fine line between courage and recklessness, Hermione."

The girl smiled weakly, for just a moment. "I'll let you know when I find it."


End file.
